Edible Flowers
by SunMonTue
Summary: Part of Chapter 20 which got cut. You need to have read TWB Chapters 17-19 for this to make sense. Second chapter can be read as a stand alone piece of smut.
1. Edible flowers

**Edible flowers  
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**Author's note**: This is a part of Chapter 20 which I cut out (not wanting Greg's point of view in the final chapter). However, I really recommend reading this. It's short. If I continue on a side story about Blaine/Greg then look out for story titles that are used as dessert garnishes. I don't _think_ I'll be writing any Blaine/Greg, but someone might request it as a present or something.

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><p>They sit in uncomfortable silence, and he knows he's to blame, but the guy is almost <em>painfully<em> eager. He wishes he had an excuse to go out, anything. Except Dave had taken him aside and asked. As a special favour. He'll never be able to deny that man anything, and keeping Blaine company today is a small thing.

"So, uh…what do you do now?" Blaine asks, and the tone of his voice makes him feel even worse. He sounds hesitant. Nervous. He's snapped at him several times already, and still the guy tries to make conversation. He sighs, consciously trying to relax and let go of his hang-ups regarding good looking guys.

"I'm a photographer. I…take photos." _Fuck_, he sounds like a condescending prick, but he can't help himself. He decides to just start talking, ignore the fact that all his instincts are telling him to be quiet. "I quit being a model and took time off to figure out what I enjoyed doing. Being behind the camera instead of in front of it…appealed to me. And I had developed an eye for it. I managed to fall into it and support myself through it, because of the contacts I had already made."

"What kind of photography do you do?"

"Landscapes. Mainly wineries." He wants to gesture to the enormous example of his work that's on the wall behind them, but stops himself, if only because he'd feel like he would be showing off.

"Oh. Do you enjoy it?"

"Yeah. I still get to travel a lot, but only when I want to. I've always liked travelling." He shrugs. He already knows what Blaine does. Had heard him talking about it at breakfast, and the impending move to London. The conversation stalls and he bites his lip, struggling to think of what he can ask. Silence reigns again.

"So how did you meet Dave?"

He almost sags with relief. He's never struggled so much to make conversation before, and he's rarely put in this type of social situation with no one else to talk to but a complete stranger.

"My brother used to work with him, so when I came here to stay with him he introduced us. My brother just assumed we'd have things in common because we were both gay…"

Blaine huffs in amusement, and it's starting to feel easier. At the least less awkward.

"Scary thing was we _did_ have a lot in common. Once Dave actually agreed to go out with me and get to know me…"

"Yeah, I can't get my head around that. You and Dave Karofsky. That's just…"

"What do you mean?" Greg demands, suddenly wary and Blaine studies him with clear open eyes.

"Well, you're not exactly the same grade are you…?"

"I don't care about looks. They've never been important to me."

"I think that's a nice ideology, but our society is still ridiculously fixated on looks."

"You think I don't know that? Coming from the field I used to work in?"

"Of course. It's the same with Kurt's profession. I think you misunderstood me, I definitely think Dave is good looking. Definitely attractive. Confident. I just wouldn't have put him in the same league as you. It's like comparing homemade apple pie with…I don't know, restaurant grade chocolate mousse."

Greg raises his eyebrows, not quite sure how he's meant to feel about being compared to a dessert.

"I'd prefer apple pie," he mutters, feeling decidedly petulant.

Blaine shrugs and smiles good-naturedly, and Greg feels slightly more relaxed, no longer feeling as wary.

"Dessert's dessert. They're all good in my book."


	2. Gold dust

**Author's note**: With all the angst I've been writing I needed to write some smut. Sorry it isn't Kurt and Dave getting it on, but my mind isn't in the right place right now to write that sort of stuff for them. I've added this as a Chapter to Edible flowers, only because it makes more sense if you've read that first, but as a piece of standalone smut this chapter is fine by itself.

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><p><strong>Warning<strong>: Smut. Food porn. Yep. It might suck. Sorry. That's a valid warning.

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><p>The first time had been a mistake. Well, they'd talked about it and decided that yes, it was definitely a mistake. Just one they happened to repeat not even twenty minutes after deciding that it should never happen again. He couldn't resist though. They had sort of become friends, their mutual ties to Kurt and Dave making them get along, and when Greg had met him off the plane with a coffee and grabbed his bag he'd been a bit taken aback. Grateful though.<p>

They argue almost constantly, and he's only just starting to realize that Greg does it on purpose. Chooses the opposite of whatever he says. Forces him to re-evaluate everything he believes. It's invigorating, having someone challenge him on everything, be deliberately argumentative simply for the sake of it. He'd kissed him simple to shut him up. Leaned over the narrow sticky beer-stained table they had been sitting at and kissed him.

That's what had led to them having sex the first time, exchanging blowjobs in the bathroom of a tiny English pub, a pub with fake-velvet seat coverings that Greg calls his local. It had been a taster, a little teaser and they'd ended up back at Greg's apartment around the corner, in his bed, discovering each other's bodies and enjoying themselves. A lot. More than once. The next day the guilt had set in, the worry over what Kurt and Dave would think, and he'd left while Greg was still asleep, the coward's way out, but he didn't know what to say. Or do.

Apparently he hadn't needed to say or do anything. The next time Greg had seen him, days later, he'd been nonchalant, uncaring, as if it hadn't mattered in the slightest. He'd been sure at the time that's exactly what Greg had felt, now, looking back he's fairly certain it had all been an act. The fact that he had shrugged, named it all a mistake and then let Blaine fuck him should have been a clue. He can be an idiot sometimes.

So they've slipped in to this pattern or turning up at each other's apartment to eat together at least once a day, having sex whenever the mood strikes them, which is usually halfway through eating. It's become their thing, and he's developed a Pavlovian response, anything related to Greg and food has him interested. He can't always pander to that interest, because he knows kneeling in the middle of a restaurant to suck another man off would get him kicked out of the country before he could even stand up, but it doesn't stop the level of _want_ rise within him. And Greg knows it too, the bastard.

Greg orders dessert without fail, even if he's only just finished complaining about how full he is. Or he'll _only_ order dessert, eyes sparkling with amusement as Blaine quickly changes his own order from a main to a dessert. He's sure half the waiting staff in Angel Islington are convinced he's insane. Or high. Or both. He's also surprised that he hasn't put on any weight, with the amount of food he's eating, but he can only assume that the amount of sex is balancing it out.

He loves Greg's body. The little appendix scar which he's never known about because apparently it was always airbrushed out of existence. He likes the way Greg moves, fluid and confident in his skin, and he is a _beautiful_ creature. He's come to appreciate all of him, his creative moods when he locks himself away in a darkroom to develop photos the old school way, the weird sense of humor and odd pop-culture references which fly completely over his head, the way he insists on elaborately painting his toenails every week. He's learnt odd things about Dave too, like how he always insists on wearing odd socks, or is slightly afraid of citrus fruit and he worries sometimes that Greg is still in love with him.

He's bored one day, goes for a walk during one of his breaks and walks in to a cake shop near Tottenham, going in with every intention of asking for directions; because while trying to learn his way around London, he's only really succeeded in getting lost. A flash of gold draws his attention and he's found it. _Edible gold dust_. He buys it, balks a little at the price, but then realizes that gold isn't just a color in this instance, it is actual real gold. What he wants to do with it would probably be considered sacrilege to the earnest woman behind the counter, but he has plans. He spies the now familiar orange letters of a Sainsburys and heads in to buy some other supplies.

The supplies sit in his cupboard for a while. Too long really. He's wanted to bring them out several times before now, but he hasn't. Now feels right though, they've been doing whatever it is they're doing for two months, both now preparing for the trip back to Chicago for the wedding. He's at Greg's apartment, open and airy and far nicer than his. His is temporary and organized by the theatre company, Greg's is his own. He sets his bag down and his eyes flick down the length if Greg's body.

He's dressed in ratty jeans, jeans that were probably once the height of fashion but are now torn and frayed at the hems and mouth-wateringly _tight_. Same with the t-shirt, it's also worn, almost threadbare in places, stretched tight across his chest like a second skin. These are Greg's mooching clothes, the ones he'll wear around home because they're soft and comfortable. Greg's wardrobe makes Kurt's look like a dress-up box. He runs his hand under the t-shirt, touches warm skin and leans back to look Greg in the eye.

"I want to…try something. Can I?"

"Depends. What do you want to try exactly?"

He reaches for the bag and pulls out the gold dust, a jar of chocolate fudge sauce and another jar of maraschino cherries. Greg takes the smallest jar, the gold dust, and grins.

"Come on…"

Instead of being led to the bedroom he's taken into the kitchen where Greg opens the jar of chocolate fudge sauce and heats it in the microwave, stopping to stir it with a finger halfway through. He watches as Greg licks his finger with long strokes of his tongue, as his lips draw his finger into his mouth and _suck._ Bastard. He's doing it on purpose, Blaine knows he is, but he doesn't care, because it's all leading somewhere, and it's going to be _fantastic_ when he gets there. Greg opens the door to his fridge and pulls out a can of aerated whipped cream and his mouth starts watering, not because he likes the taste of aerated whipped cream, but because they're both so clearly on the same page right now that they may as well be the same letter in a word on that page.

"Come on…"

He lets himself be led toward the bedroom but as they pass Greg's workroom he halts and Greg frowns. He lets go of his hand and quickly steps in, picking up what he knows to be Greg's cheapest and oldest camera, which still takes amazing shots, is solely digital and perfect for what he'd like to use it for. Greg looks at him, to the food, then to his camera.

"You break that I'm going to take payment from you in flesh…"

"I can live with that…" he replies with a grin.

They haven't even exchanged a kiss yet, just weighted looks and he's already half hard with just the sheer knowledge of what's coming. What he's fantasized about since he bought the little jar and carried around in his pockets. He's being led again and he bites his lip as Greg pauses and frowns at his white sheets before shrugging, just pulling back the duvet and moving it to an armchair.

He takes each item from his hands, reverently placing them on the bedside table in a tidy line, popping the lids off and placing lube and condoms beside them. He's undressing while he watches, because Greg is being deliberately slow, making a show of it. If he didn't know better he'd think Greg were trying to slow it down, except he's never known anyone capable of getting naked as fast as Greg can, a hang over from his modeling days and necessary quick changes. He doesn't care, just knows he doesn't want to be caught on the back foot.

He's stepping out of his shoes, pants bunched around his ankles and when he looks up Greg is already shirtless and his breath catches. He'll never tired of looking at him, he's simply stunning, hand pulling his button jeans apart effortlessly and sliding them down. He's undressed him enough times to know it's not as easy as he's just made it look. He steps forward, fingers curling around Greg's cock, tugging gently and Greg hums in appreciation.

Blaine wishes he was taller sometimes, or simply stronger, but sweeps the little insecurities aside, because he's pretty sure he'll always experience some form of self doubt when in bed with Greg, when he continues to make a comparison between the two of them. He nudges Greg back toward the bed, and he has in his mind what he wants to do…but thoughts and reality very rarely gel for him, except when it comes to music and his job, but he's going to give this his best try.

Greg lies there, stretched out, all long limbs and even skin tone, his cock laying half hard on his stomach, the skin slightly darker there and only a faint sprinkling of hair. He's watching him, small smile playing on his lips.

Blaine wants to make a work of art, one he can lick clean. He tips the still warm chocolate fudge sauce, watches as Greg's abdominal muscles flex at the sensation. He wants to start licking it off immediately, but instead runs a finger through it slowly, taking the finger into his mouth and licking it clean, mirroring Greg's actions from the kitchen. When his finger his clean he deliberately gets them messy again, spreading the chocolate sauce over his stomach, chest and along the length of his cock.

He straddles one of Greg's thighs, ruts against it softly, causing his own dick to warm and fill further. He leans forward, holding out splayed fingers to Greg. His wrist is encircled by a strong warm hand, Greg always seems a few degrees warmer than normal, then there's a tongue licking up over the fleshy part of his thumb before starting to suck and lick him clean. He shudders as his body tingles, all the fine hairs standing on end and Greg moves to his next finger.

He'd wanted to draw pictures in the sauce, drag his nails through it, follow the patterns drawn by his finger with his tongue. Except he's underestimated his control. Or lack of it. He should have jerked off before coming around, with the amount that he's built this up in his head. He leans down, feeling his cock drag through warm chocolate and he starts a kiss. Kissing Greg is always a fifty-fifty call, sometimes he'll be calm and sweet, and the other time he's in fear of having his lips bitten or chewed off.

Now is calm and sweet, a bit playful as he licks at chocolate flavored lips, nibbles lightly and slides a tongue inside, runs the tip over smooth teeth and bumpy ridges on the roof of his mouth. Blaine lets himself get lost in the sensation for a while, enjoy the sensation of a warm pliant mouth on his, hands running up his sides before curling in his hair. He pulls back reluctantly, reaches for the small jar of gold dust. He wants to keep his right hand as clean as possible simply so he can take the photos he has in his mind. If they even turn out half as good as he imagines he'll be happy.

He sprinkles the dust then, tasting it experimentally, it tastes of nothing, though slightly sweet, but it catches in the sticky residue of the chocolate and his imagination couldn't come up with this. The way Greg's body is moving, chest rising and falling, his body heat making the fudge sauce more liquid and in gathers deeper in the grooves between defined muscles. He reaches for a cherry, popping one in his mouth and savoring the sharp liqueur flavor.

"Stay…" he murmurs, withdrawing and reaching for the camera which Greg has placed even further out of reach than the line of jars. He knows nothing about taking photos, but he gets the whole point and click theory. He sees Greg stiffen for a second before relaxing again, stretching his arms above his head and turning away slightly so his face is in profile. He already considers Greg's body beautiful in its own right, and while Greg might think he's planning on taking photos of all of him he really just wants a photo of his chocolate covered torso.

The way the gold dust has settled reminds him of sunrise, the little flickers of light over a dark sea as it rises. He picks up another cherry and places it carefully in the dip of Greg's navel, and Greg laughs, making the cherry wobble. He shoots, playing really, but he hopes that there'll be at least one decent photo amongst the dozen he's taking and he moves around his body, brushing up against it, rubbing against him

"You're an odd man Blaine…"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not. Definitely not. I prefer odd. Everything else is boring. Can we have sex now?"

It's said jokingly, the fact that Greg has become almost completely hard, chocolate sauce running all over, means he hasn't lost interest in the slightest, but he almost drops the camera in his haste to get back to what he _really_wants. He pecks him quickly on the lips and then moves to kneel between Greg's spread legs. He pauses for a fraction of a second, unsure whether to start at the top and work his way down, or start _here_, and work his way up.

He reaches for the almost half-empty jar and scoops out most of the remaining sauce, which has started to solidify. It returns to liquid in the warmth of his hand and he wraps his fingers around Greg's cock. It feels slippery and sticky, but must feel good, if the thrust of Greg's hips upward and quiet groans are any indication. Slow sure strokes, and the chocolate and glitter make each muscle flex of Greg's stomach more obvious. The smell is amazing, warm chocolate and arousal, the best combination.

He lowers his head to lick across the head of his cock, and the bitter salt of pre-come is a delicious contrast to the sweetness of the chocolate.

"Fuck you taste good…"

"I taste of chocolate fudge…"

"Mmm, that too."

Greg's body shakes with silent laughter and the cherry rolls from bellybutton and onto the sheet. He follows it with his tongue, leaving Greg's cock for now, knows he needs to lick the majority of the chocolate off. His eyes widen when he sees the bright cherry-red stain forming on the white sheet, next to smears of chocolate and specks of gold. The sheets are never going to be clean again. He picks the cheery up in his mouth. Holding it between his teeth he moves to be above Greg, who reaches up, tongue outstretched to lick the cherry. He lets it go and watches as Greg catches it in his mouth, eats it, eyes sparkling, and he knows Greg is holding back some filthy comment about taking his cherry.

He hides a grin at the fact that he's pretty sure what he knows Greg is thinking and licks a stripe through the chocolate on his stomach as he moves back down to his cock. The gold dust feels slightly gritty in the smoothness of the chocolate, but like the cherry and the pre-come it just adds another sensory experience. He should have done this ages ago. The taste of chocolate is overpowering when he takes Greg's cock into his mouth, and he moves his tongue in a lapping motion, particularly over the head, he wants to taste the pre-come and chocolate in equal measure.

Greg is making shallow thrusting motions and he tries to work with them, swallowing when he can and sucking. He runs a finger between Greg's ass cheeks, can feel the slippery slide of chocolate and moans. He finds his hole and presses gently, more of a massage than anything else. Greg is twisting, trying to push down onto his finger and up into his mouth simultaneously and almost succeeding, if only because he's helping.

"_Oh fuck…_"

He hums and slips just a finger tip inside, rotating it around and starting the slow stretch. He reaches his free hand up, makes a beckoning motion he hopes Greg can see and somehow translate. When the lube is slipped into his open hand he feels a frisson of pleasure that they're on the same wavelength. They might argue all the time, but in bed they're seamless. He leaves the lube by his knee for now, wants to make the most of the chocolate he's spread everywhere.

He spreads Greg's legs further and licks up the length of his crack, over his ball, up the length of his erection and he sucks a couple of times before moving to lick his stomach before licking each nipple clean of chocolate. He sucks one nipple and then the other, waiting until they're pink from heat and reaches for the cold can of whipped cream and squirting two little peaks. The sudden cold makes Greg twitch and he licks the cream off the now even harder nubs of flesh.

He moves back down, locating the lube and he notices it's not the usual one. _Chocolate scented_ he reads and he looks up to meet Greg's eyes, he just smiles, shrugs and looks at the ceiling, and he can tell he's a bit embarrassed, even though he shouldn't be considering what he'd brought with him. He flips the lid and peels back the tiny little foil seal before squirting some on to his fingers. It's definitely chocolate scented, and he's tempted to taste it, but experience has taught him if it doesn't say _flavored_ to not risk it. And even then it's not always a safe bet.

There's a small droplet of pre-come and he licks it off, licks part of his stomach again, likes that he has an excuse to lick him all over. One of his hands goes to work stretching Greg open, fingers slipping in one after the other, and he listens closely to the little grunts Greg makes as he works through the initial burn. His other hand is splayed on his hip, holding himself steady and he's still mouthing Greg's cock.

He feels the scratch against his head and Greg is holding a condom out to him. He doesn't talk a lot during sex, every word Greg says feels like a hard earned reward. He knows what the condom means, it's a silent '_get on with it already'_ and he's happy to oblige. His hands are disgustingly sticky and tearing open the foil takes two tries before he wipes his hands on the already ruined sheet. He strokes himself furiously, and he's sticky there too but doesn't care. He slides the condom down and covers his cock in more lube.

The air is definitely sickly sweet with the smell of chocolate, and he knows he's never going to be able to smell it again and not think about this moment. He pushes slowly, moans at the heat and tightness as it slowly encases him, feels Greg's impossibly long legs wrap around his waist and he settles into the now familiar cadence of their bodies rocking together.

He _isn't_ quiet during sex, and he has no idea what Greg thinks of his mumbled strings of words. Quiet amusement if his expression is anything to go by. Their rhythm catches, and Greg reaches for his cock, starts stroking himself to the same rhythm.

"_Fucking hell…_"

He can't help the rush of satisfaction at the words, that he's broken Greg's usual silence and he starts thrusting faster and he can feel the strain in Greg's body as he pushes back.

"God yes, fuck yes…oh god…_Greg_."

He digs his fingers into Greg's ass cheeks, pulling them further apart so he can push deeper, harder, faster. He feels his orgasm uncurling, his entire body suddenly extra sensitive. Greg's hand is _flying_ on his cock, a blur of movement and his head is thrown back, tendons in his neck sticking out in stark relief, and he can see a smear of chocolate that he really wants to lick off. He wants to lick every part of him, _any_ part of him right now.

Then there's Greg's hand, fingertips each covered in whatever remains of the fudge sauce and he wraps his mouth around each finger, working his hips furiously, but focusing on sucking and licking Greg's fingers clean. He can feel the slow consistent pressure building around his cock, telling him Greg is close followed then by the almost painful clench of his ass around his cock and fuck it feels good.

"_Blaine_…" Greg chokes out and it causes him to startle, Greg has never said his name during sex, and he has no idea if it's significant but doesn't have time to think about it, he's coming, his body shattering apart only to form together as a shaky boneless heap that he barely holds upright. He sags a bit, letting the ripples of pleasure travel through his body and he groans appreciatively as he comes down from his orgasm induced high, pulling out slowly and discarding the condom before settling back into his previous job of licking Greg clean.

Greg lets him, drawing him into slow deliberate kisses that taste of chocolate, come, cream and cherries. Greg clearly doesn't care about the state of the sheet and they end up spreading cherry juice and chocolate even further while they continue to kiss, bodies sticking together. When he pulls away he watches in fascination as their skin pulls. They're both in desperate need of a shower. Again, as if he can tell what he's thinking Greg nudges him.

"Go start the shower, I'll be in there in a sec…"

**TWB**

He blushes scarlet as he unwraps the last piece of artwork, and he knows Greg has had it delivered to his work for the effect of maximum embarrassment. There are nine pieces, numbered on the back and Alice has laid them out on the floor carefully, her head now cocked to one side as she tries to figure out what she's looking at. He knows exactly what he's looking at. _Fuck_.

Without him knowing Greg has taken photos of parts of the _sheet_, the one covered in chocolate sauce, gold dust and the dark red of the cherry juice. It looks a bit like a messy child's painting, except it's _not_ and he's getting hard just looking at it, knows he's imagining the scent of chocolate. He can see what is unmistakably his hand print in one, and in another he can see the tiny foil seal from the tube of lube.

"It's quite um… abstract? Did you have it commissioned?"

"Uh, no…a friend did it for me."

"Dessert and garnishes, that's the title of the series…bit odd isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah it is…" he agrees, but he's grinning widely.


End file.
